


when the world's still small

by andtheyfightcrime



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: And no one dies, F/M, Slow Burn, wild horses weekend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtheyfightcrime/pseuds/andtheyfightcrime
Summary: Buffy Summers knows all about fighting and beating back the forces of evil. Can she survive her emotions and the possibility of long term happiness?My first complete Buffy/Angel with overt romance and romantic gestures. Written for the Wild Horses Weekend B/A challenge/marathon.





	when the world's still small

She heard the crunch of wet grass behind her and didn’t turn around. She pulled a stake out of her bandolier and twirled it idly between her fingers.

“Slow night?” His quiet chuckle tickled her ear and she shifted slightly. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was perfectly still, his profile picked out in starlight.

“Maybe,” she said. “I staked a few by the memorial and did a sweep through Restfield. Not a lot of action there.”

“It was dead in Sunnydale too,” he said with the barest hint of a smile.

“Ha, ha,” she said and slid the stake back into its tidy loop. “Are we going to fight, or what?”

“You read my mind. Here or somewhere else?”

She scanned the cemetery and noted seven different spots she could use to her advantage. Of course, Angel had the same advantage. But she was quicker. She pinned up her long braid in a makeshift crown.

“Here. I don’t feel like walking over to Sunnydale Cemetery.”

Angel nodded. The sharp angles of his face melted smoothly into his vampiric visage. It had long ceased to startle her, but it still took her a second to adjust. That was still Angel behind the gold eyes and fangs, she reminded herself.

 

_how you wound up with me_

Her unexpected ally, her almost friend. Jeeves had been against accepting his help, but when she explained that if Angel hadn’t intervened, the streets in this shitty little town would have been awash in blood, and a new Slayer would have to deal with the Master and his minions, the Watcher thawed.

 

As it was, both of them had barely made it out alive of the warehouse. Buffy had to prop Angel’s torn and bleeding body against a handy alley wall while she threw one of the handmade grenades that the White Hat boy – what was his name – oh yeah, Oz, and then stake any fleeing vampire as the warehouse caught on fire.

The White Hats pulled up with their van and helped her bundle Angel into the back.

Oz dropped them off at Jeeves’s apartment. “Do you need help getting him upstairs?”

Buffy slung Angel’s arm around her shoulders and straightened up, her other arm winding around his waist. Angel groaned lightly but did not sway.

Oz blinked. “Guess not.”

“Yeah, freaky Slayer strength, plus he hasn’t fed properly in years. He’s not that heavy.” Buffy moved her fingers so they weren’t directly against Angel’s wounds.

“Giles has blood packs in the fridge.”

At Buffy’s questioning look, Oz said calmly, “Hospitals haven’t been the safest places in the last few years. Mostly run by skeleton crews. It made more sense to run ER stuff in his apartment – he knows advanced first aid and he’s done a few blood transfusions.”

“Good to know,” she said. “Well, thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the slaying. You took out the Master and a lot of his clutch.”

“I didn’t get them all,” she said. “They’ll regroup.”

Oz shrugged. “Probably. Evil doesn’t tend to go away. But at least you’ve evened out the playing field.”

“I can stick around for a week or two,” she said reluctantly. “Finish off the survivors. Then I’ll move on.”

Angel grunted. “Coming with you.”

“He’s delirious,” Buffy said. “But yeah. I could…teach you guys some moves, so you’ll be better prepared.”

“That would be good,” Oz agreed. “And I can teach you how to make grenades. Could come in handy someday.”

Buffy recalled how quickly the warehouse caught on fire and nodded. “More portable than hoping stuff is around to make Molotovs with.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Oz offered her his hand to shake.

She gingerly shook it.

“See you around, Buffy.”

 

_you’re liable to figure me out_

That had been three months ago.

She had meant it when she said she was going to move on. Only Giles had looked up from his books and said rather helplessly, “But there’s a prophecy…”

And something in her twinged slightly.

Sunnydale was _ripe_ with prophecies. There seemed to be a new one every week. In the Master’s absence, other beasties and things that went bump in the night asserted themselves loudly and frequently.

It had to do with Sunnydale being built on top of a Hellmouth.

“What a stupid place to build a town,” she said.

“I know. But it explains why it’s so cheap to live here,” Larry said through a mouthful of donut. She finally learned everyone’s names a month into her stay. The White Hats, in return, had relaxed around her and even took turns looking after Angel.

He had an apartment not far from the high school, and aside from the years’ worth of dust covering his furniture and belongings, nothing else was disturbed. No other vampires had broken in and squatted there, which was a minor miracle.

Larry, Oz, and their friend Jonathan had shown up with brooms, garbage bags, and a bucket full of cleaning supplies. It took them most of the day, but it was clean and dust free by the time she walked there, Angel leaning against her side.

She tried not to think about how easily she fit there, and how familiar his weight was.

Angel let go of her and peered into his apartment, his expression bright and open. He suddenly looked years younger.

“It looks like mine again,” he said quietly.

“The guys told me they stocked the fridge. You should be good for a little while.”

“Okay,” he nodded at her. “Thank you, Buffy.”

He walked stiffly toward the bed and then looked over at her. “It’s okay. You can go now.”

She lingered in the doorway, uncertain. “If you need anything…”

“I’ll call Giles. He gave me his number.” He sank down into the mattress and gave a little sigh.

 

_could you learn to read minds_

It was strange. He didn’t need to breathe. Vampires didn’t. It was written somewhere. Jeeves probably had the exact book. But Angel did all these little things that made her forget he was a vampire.

The sighing, for one. And then coffee. That had been a surprise, coming down the stairs at Jeeves’s and seeing him and Angel at the table, deep in conversation. Angel was drinking coffee and her Watcher – she guessed he was her Watcher now – was filling out the crossword puzzle in his newspaper.

She stared and Angel must have felt her gaze because he looked up at her and smiled. It dislodged something dark and heavy inside her heart, and she found herself smiling back.

Angel liked music, or at least he pretended to like the music that was in Jeeves’s collection. She would find him flicking through the album sleeves until he found something he liked, and then he would slide it out slowly from its sleeve. Reverently, as if it was precious. Then he would place it on Giles’s record player and really they were a hundred years old, who even used a record player anymore? Even her dad – and _that_ was a soft throb that she refused to poke further – played CDs.

“You have good taste,” he said to Giles, and her watcher beamed for a minute before remembering who he was talking to. “I imagine you have quite the collection yourself.”

“I do,” Angel said. “Still, you have some records I haven’t heard in years.”

“You can borrow them whenever you like,” Giles said graciously.

It all sounded like fuzzy guitars and guys singing about drugs, Buffy thought privately. Not her kind of music at all.

But of all the human things Angel indulged in – breathing, drinking coffee, listening to music, the habit he liked the most – was reading.

He brought a book with him when he started following her on her patrols. He was completely healed from the torture, physically at least. Sometimes she’d catch him looking off into the distance, his expression empty. It made the hair on her arms stand up. At that moment, Angel looked perfectly alien, like a blank-eyed statue. She could feel the power taut underneath his skin. He was coiled and ready to strike, and she had no doubts about how vicious he must have been, once upon a time.

He would take one half of the cemetery and she would patrol the other, and they’d meet up by the mausoleum with the tiny gargoyle. Usually, he’d be reading when she ran up, her body singing with adrenaline and the sheer fierce joy of a good fight.

“What’re you reading?”

It was rarely a book in English, or at least English she understood. Sometimes it was poetry. Tonight the book looked battered, the pages yellow and creased.

“Le Morte d’Arthur.” Buffy mentally filed through her scant memories of freshman French. “Arthur’s Mort?” she guessed.

Angel smiled. “The Death of Arthur. It’s a story about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”

“Oh, I know that story. He pulled a sword out of a stone and ran into the Knights of Ni, right?”

Angel’s mouth twitched. “That’s Monty Python, but you’re not far off the mark.”

“My mom and I used to watch that movie. I didn’t understand all of it, but it was funny. When they used the coconuts? I thought that was hilarious.”

“It is hilarious. But the legend is pretty fascinating too.”

“Oh? What’s interesting about it?” She sat down next to him.

“Well, there’s the adventures the knights go on, of course. And Arthur coming into his own as a king and a man. Then there’s courtly love,” and his voice warmed, and Buffy unconsciously leaned into him, wanting to wrap that voice around her like a sweater.

“What’s that?”

“A fiction,” he said. “A pretty one, and not something I could understand as a young man.”

“You still look pretty young. For an old guy, I mean.”

Angel’s bark of laughter rang out into the night. “For that, we’re gonna fight.”

“Try and keep up then,” Buffy said, and her second favorite part of the evening began.

 

Angel at first refused to spar with her. Instead, he would just watch her go through the motions with Giles, wincing in sympathy when she inevitably flipped the Watcher over onto his back. The other White Hats begged off hand to hand combat with her, and when they came at her in a group, she laid them out neatly, one by one.

“Come _on_ ,” she taunted Angel. “They can’t keep up and I’m not even using all of my strength. It’s Jeeves’s job to watch, not yours.”

“My job is to help you,” he said. “Your left is just hanging there, by the way.”

She whirled around her leg in a high kick. He caught her ankle. “Buffy, no,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to fight you.”

She rolled her eyes in response.

“You’re a vampire and I’m the Slayer. It’s what we’re made to do. Besides, I’ll go easy on you. You still look like a heavy wind could topple you over.”

“I don’t _want_ to fight you,” he said shortly. “And it’s that attitude that’s going to get you hurt someday. I’m not always going to be weak, Buffy.”

“I’ve already been hurt. Slayer healing takes care of most of it,” she said, frustrated.

“Well, I’m not going to add to that.” Angel turned and left the library.

 

_help me heal these scars_

She didn’t chase guys. Unless they were evil. Buffy slowed down when she saw Angel disappear into an alley. She waited, and when he didn’t emerge, ran over.

Angel grabbed her as she turned the corner, his face fully fanged and bristling. “Is this what you want?” He snarled.

Buffy’s instinct kicked in and she kneed him in the groin – only to find Angel blocking and gripping her knee. It hurt, but Buffy refused to let him intimidate her.

“I could dislocate it,” he rumbled. “My sire liked that trick. When she was bored, she’d break their kneecaps, so they’d be begging for her kiss. No one wanted to be crippled back then, and the doctors were barely better than butchers.”

“So you’re playing bad cop with me now?” Buffy gripped her fingers around his collar. “What’s your point?”

“I meant what I said when I met you,” he said and then the vampire receded, and his human eyes looked down on her. “You’re my destiny.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not in my handbook,” Buffy snapped and pushed at him. Despite his initial appearance, it was like pushing a wall.

He caught both of her hands in his fist and it dawned on her that this was the first time Angel had used his strength against her.

“Hey,” he said, soft as a whisper. “Look at me.”

“Glamor doesn’t work on me,” she seethed. “Dracula tried and fit nicely in the hotel vacuum. Then again, every vampire in Cleveland was calling himself Dracula. It must have been convention season.”

“You staked Dracula?” Angel let go of her hands.

“Yes, because that’s my job?” She said. “I mean, he looked like every version of Dracula that I’ve ever seen. Widow’s peak. Really pale. Sesame Street accent. He turned into a bunch of bats.”

She wrinkled her nose at the memory. “Then, of course, I had to hunt down every single bat and stake it with like, a toothpick. That took me _hours_. And did I get a thank you? No. I did not.”

“I wasn’t going to glamor you,” Angel said, biting back his smile. “Mesmerizing is an old trick but I never had to use it.”

“More of a bite and run guy?”

He snorted. “No. I was a bastard. Drew it out. I called them my masterpieces.”

“Very serial killer of you.”

His smile slipped. “Yes. I was excellent at _my_ job, you could say.”

There was an edge to his voice that she had never heard. The Slayer in her flared up in alarm, chanting, _Stake him! Stake him!_

But Buffy stared into his eyes unflinchingly. “So tell me why I’m your destiny? Seems kind of counterproductive. Also, suicidal.”

“Do you trust me?” He looked at her earnestly.

“Honestly? No. But…I’ll listen.”

He nodded. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

 

_something wrong in my stars_

Buffy fidgeted in the overly plush chair in Angel’s living room while he moved around in his kitchenette, boiling water for tea. He was making her tea. A vampire was making her tea and then they would talk and if her previous Watcher had still been alive; he would have yelled in his very British accent that she had obviously gone round the bloody bend.

But he wasn’t, and she was still here, swinging her legs restlessly.

“How do you take your tea?” He called. “I have sugar but no milk.”

“I’ll pass on both. You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said and brought in a tray. A porcelain cup on a saucer and its own matching spoon were on the tray. Buffy blinked at it and then at Angel’s waiting expression.

“Is it okay?”

“Reminds me when I was five and playing tea with my Winnie the Pooh,” she said quietly. She stirred the tea and let the aroma waft over her face.

She set the spoon down and picked up the cup. She sipped. It was strong but not bitter, and the warmth seeped into her bones and she sagged into the chair’s now welcoming embrace. “Oh. That’s nice.”

It was so tempting to close her eyes, but she resisted.

“How’d you get that scar?” Angel’s hand hovered over her lips and she leaned away. “I thought your Slayer healing…”

“He had an enchanted knife,” Buffy said. “It slowed down the process and left behind a souvenir. I broke his arm though, so we’re almost even.” She said it matter-of-factly, but Angel could see the wariness in her face.

“I’m sorry. That should have never happened.”

“It’s fine. I was never going to be a model anyway. Too short.” She laughed, and the brittleness of it made his chest tighten in sympathy.

“It doesn’t change a thing,” he said and brushed his thumb delicately over her mouth.

Buffy shivered, then jerked away.

“Whatever. You said you were going to tell me?”

“Once, there was a girl…”

 

 

_honey don’t think_

Buffy didn’t remember how she got home to Giles’s apartment that night, only that she woke up in bed, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels tucked in beside her. Her head was threatening to kill her, and she doubted the rest of her body could pay up the ransom. She staggered out of bed, moaning. She nearly tripped over the collection of bottles scattered on the floor.

 

A knock against her door. “Leave me alone,” she growled and then winced because talking _hurt_. Her face felt someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls.

“I’ve got a full English breakfast out here when you’re done vomiting,” Giles said cautiously. “Angel told me you were upset when you left his apartment last night.”

“Tattletale,” she muttered and swayed into the bathroom. Her hip hit the tub and she yelped.

“I’m not vomiting,” she said in as dignified a voice as she could manage. Gravity chose that moment to cruelly mock her and she felt every ounce of alcohol rush up her throat and she bolted to the toilet.

Giles shook his head as the steady sound of retching filled his apartment. “Silly girl,” he said to himself. “Shouldn’t have drunk on an empty stomach.”

He eyed the remains of his alcohol cabinet and sighed. “Next time I’m getting a troll lock on this.”

 

The hangover lasted far too long. Long enough for Buffy to swear off of alcohol forever. Well, for at least six months.

Three.

She’d consider it depending on the occasion.

And Giles, that slippery fiend, had slipped out of the apartment and Angel had arrived, smoking blanket and all, with an armful of books and a determined expression.

Buffy glared at him pitifully from her refuge on the couch. She had wrapped her entire duvet around her like a cocoon.

“I didn’t ask for you,” she said.

“Too bad. I’m here.” Angel said cheerfully.

“It’s your fault,” Buffy said petulantly.

“I didn’t pour half of Giles’s stash down your throat,” Angel said. “I didn’t know Slayer healing also prevented alcohol poisoning.”

“It’s called tolerance.”

“You’re nineteen. You’re not legal to drink.”

“Fine. Call the cops.”

“Buffy,” Angel said. “You’re not feeling great. How can I help you?”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“I can do that. I’ll just do research at the same time.”

Buffy nodded at the pile of books. “He’s got you doing his homework now?”

Angel shook his head. “No. I volunteered. Buffy sitting is just an added bonus.”

He bent his head back over his book. She scowled.

“I want water,” she croaked. Angel carefully placed a folded piece of paper in his book and stood up. “I’ll bring you a pitcher.”

He moved smoothly through Giles’s apartment like he owned the place. Buffy heard him slide open a drawer and take out cutlery.

“I just want water,” she said.

“I’m cutting up a lemon. Nancy showed me a trick.”

Nancy – Buffy frowned. Oh right, the lone girl White Hat. She pushed aside her duvet, feeling overly warm all of a sudden.

“You really fit in with them, don’t you?”

Angel came back with the promised pitcher and a tall glass of water. A lemon wedge was carefully perched on the rim. He handed it to her.

“They’re not a bad group of kids.”

Of course, everyone was a kid to Angel.

“They seem to like you better now,” she said after a sip of water.

Angel shook his head. “It’s borrowed time. I’m useful to them. If something like the Master happens again – I’m not sure I wouldn’t be on their list to slay.” His face darkened. “I don’t blame them.”

There was the furrowed brow signaling the beginning of a brood. She sighed.

“They’re your friends, Angel. Or they want to be.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had friends.”

Buffy stretched out and nudged his thigh with her foot. “Me too.”

He stilled, then tentatively rested his hand on the top of her foot.

Buffy froze.

Angel stroked the top of her foot, his cool fingers tracing up to her ankle. She sucked in her bottom lip. It was just casual touching.

Like almost friends did. She had watched the White Hats and how easily affectionate they were in her presence – Larry punching Oz in the shoulder, Oz giving him a wry smile and then punching him back. Nancy hugging everyone. She even hugged Buffy once, right after she came out of Giles’s intensive care room. She had on a sling, but she still made an effort to wrap both arms around Buffy. “Thank you for coming,” she had said, her voice full of relief. “I didn’t want to die.”

Buffy patted her back awkwardly. “Well, you didn’t.”

 

Somehow, Angel’s touching didn’t fit neatly into that category of a friend anymore. She shivered and withdrew her foot.

“Anyway,” she said and hated how unnaturally high her voice sounded. “I’ll let you get back to your research.”

Angel looked away. “Yeah.”

He folded in on himself, the solid outlines of him suddenly smaller and unsure. He pushed back his chair, so he was further away from her.

 

Buffy didn’t remember falling asleep, but she woke up with her duvet tucked around her and a pillow underneath her head. Angel was nowhere to be seen, and a full pitcher was on the table.

He had left her a note. Buffy picked it up, running her thumb over the smooth texture of the paper and marveled at how it suited Angel’s old fashioned handwriting.

‘I’ll cover your patrol tonight. Get some rest. – A.’

She held it to her chest and felt a little flutter. She brought the note up to her nose and inhaled. It was probably creepy, but no one was around to judge.

It smelled like the old books Giles was so fond of, and also kind of – she sniffed. Like how a freshly lit fire smelled. She pictured Angel writing by candlelight, or a fireplace. He didn’t have a fireplace in his apartment. So it had to be candles.

The idea of Angel sitting at a desk and writing her notes struck her as impossibly romantic, and she dismissed it entirely. Romance was ridiculous and she didn’t have time for it. She had carved out a spot for herself in this hell town and she knew sooner or later, she’d have to leave it.

It was better that way.

 

_but I beg you to stay_

Sunnydale in spring was a wonder – cherry blossoms exploded into existence and colors crept back into the landscape. The curfew had been provisionally lifted, and people began to wear bright colors again. There was a feeling of hope in the air and the town held its collective breath.

Buffy didn’t trust it.

She patrolled with Angel nightly and Angel put out feelers into the demon underground about any would be contenders for the Master position. It amused Buffy when demons would show up at Angel’s door, spot her and blanch. Angel would listen to their tip patiently, and then give them money from a seemingly never-ending source.

When she asked him how he got his money, Angel looked evasive. “Investments,” was all he would say.

Buffy suspected it was most likely blood money, but as he was getting them intel that the White Hats didn’t have access to, it didn’t matter.

“They’re your own Irregulars,” she said after the last one slinked away. Angel looked briefly confused before recognition lit his features.

He smiled at her. “I’m not exactly Sherlock Holmes.”

“He’s made up. You’re real.” Buffy said.

“Thanks,” he said solemnly.

“Oh shut up,” she said and punched his shoulder.

He laughed and swatted at her, which led to them wrestling on the floor of his apartment.

Between the time she put Angel in a headlock, and him squirming out of it to flip her onto her back, her hair loosened itself from her messy braid and fell about her shoulders. Angel’s look of victory disappeared as he gazed down on her.

His chest was moving up and down despite not needing to breathe and she reached up to touch it wonderingly. She almost expected to feel a heartbeat underneath her palm.

“Buffy,” he said roughly.

It sparked something in her, something elemental and _ancient_. Buffy felt tingly all over, and she moaned quietly.

With some difficulty, Angel forced himself away from her.

“I’m going to go,” Buffy said quickly. “Going to help Giles with the – books. Something about stacking them.”

“I’ll see you tonight then,” Angel said. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“Same bat place, same bat time,” she confirmed.

 

When she left, Angel rolled over with a groan. His fangs retracted and his face changed back into its familiar angles. Buffy was dangerous, he had always known that. He appreciated that about her, a kindred spirit in ferocity that attracted him from the moment he realized what she was. And he had waited for her, waited out the years of torture and abuse and twisted fantasies at Willow and Xander’s hands – they were mere children against his centuries of experience. Darla – hell, _Drusilla_ would have laughed at their efforts. It had hurt, but he waited.

Then she appeared in his cell – the gold of her hair darker, her face grimy with blood and dust, a thin white scar bisecting her lips. She was the Slayer he dreamed about, and yet so much more.

The past few months had been like awakening to a dream. After his rehabilitation, and steady exposure to the humans, Buffy remained at the edge of his vision – a reluctant colleague.

He didn’t realize how _really_ dangerous Buffy Summers was to him until just now.

 

She had crept into every crevice of his silent heart, so stealthily that he didn’t know when it began, only that she was there, a permanent resident.

He worked for every smile, quick glance and small touch she gifted him. Buffy liked it when he read to her, though she pretended not to care – the tips of her ears turning pink gave her away. And just as he felt alive in her presence, Buffy started shedding her Slayer armor bit by bit. She started calling Giles by his given name and making eye contact with the other White Hats.

Every day, Buffy became a little more human, a little softer and it was that softness that drew him helplessly into her keeping. He wasn’t afraid of the Slayer.

It was just Buffy, with her little snort when she tried to hide her laughter. Buffy, staring keenly at Giles when he was talking about some ancient text and he just _knew_ that she was asleep with her eyes open. Buffy’s enthusiasm for ice cream after slaying and trying every one of the thirty-one flavors at the remaining ice cream shop in Sunnydale. They put her picture on the wall and gave her a discount every time she came in. Buffy sitting with her knees folded underneath her chin as she listened to him read, and him finding a worn paperback dictionary among her things, with words circled in precise red circles.

 

 _That_ Buffy made him tremble.

 

He had suppressed desire within for centuries. When living among humans became too much to bear, he sequestered himself willingly among the forgotten and the vermin, only hoping half-seriously, to die. He flirted with the edge of sunlight, but always drew back at the last possible second.

Then Whistler with his ill-fitting suits and his worse manners had bullied him into a rust bucket of a car far away from New York’s concrete indifference, into Los Angeles, California. It was anathema to a vampire on the surface – relentless sunshine poured into the city and he didn’t care for palm trees. But there had been a point, Whistler argued. A reason.

“It’s the first day of the rest of your unlife, pal,” Whistler said through a mouthful of Pink’s original hot dog. “This is where your story begins.”

The Watcher’s Council had messed up. Their current Slayer was on her last legs somewhere in Nevada, and the nearest potential hadn’t been found as a child by the Watchers. She was going to be a Slayer, and her Watcher would need all the help he could get, even if it was from a damned creature like him – no offense.

He would go to Sunnydale and wait for her there because that was where the big battle was supposed to be.

So Angel had waited and waited some more.

He built himself a small tidy life as he waited.

Then the feast of St. Vigeous happened, and Sunnydale quickly went to hell.

Whistler hadn’t appeared.

Buffy Summers was lost.

Only she found him, and Angel chose to believe in his long-forgotten saints that destiny had finally chosen him.

 

_in the case of mine do you read in the dark_

He knew when he came upon her in the cemetery, that something was wrong. Buffy leaned against the mausoleum, listlessly twirling her stake between her fingers. The mindless action calmed her, she told him once. When he appeared at her side, she didn’t react at all.

“Hey,” she said dully.

“Buffy,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. What makes you say that?”

“Your face,” he gestured. “You look sad.”

“I’m not,” she protested. “It’s nothing.”

He noticed a tear in her leather jacket, and then the ripped hole in her khakis. He bent down and inspected it – the wound was already healing. Buffy shied away from his touch.

“I’ll just sew them up later,” she said.

“Don’t you have other clothes?”

“Says the guy who has multiple versions of the same outfit,” she said dryly.

“It’s a classic look,” Angel shrugged. “But really. We could get you new clothes. Giles has set aside money for you.”

A spark lit in her eyes and then winked out abruptly. “He did that?”

“You’re his Slayer. That’s his job.”

She looked at the ground. “Oh,” she said softly.

“I can come with you if you want,” Angel offered. “Unless you want Nancy to help you?”

“It’s no big deal,” Buffy said. “I’ll just buy new boots and some tank tops.”

“How about non-Slaying clothes?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy said slowly. “It’s not like I need them.”

“If Nancy can buy a new flannel every week, you can wear something that isn’t black, grey or tan.”

“Those are my colors,” Buffy said, but she smiled. “I’m a winter.”

“Lies. You’re all the seasons, but especially summer. The mall’s closed but I know where we can go.”

“Angel, it doesn’t have to be right this minute,” Buffy said, hurrying to match his stride.

“Do you have other plans?”

“Giles and I were going to watch Mystery! but I think he has a date. Or a crush. I’m not sure yet. He can’t form full sentences.”

“That’s right. The community college instructor. She teaches computers, I heard.”

“And she just moved to Sunnydale, which is a big red flag, but Giles seems to like her.”

“And you’re worried?”

She frowned. “Well, in my experience, people tend to not move here unless it’s for evil.”

“Or they’re locals.”

“Right, so they grew up with this. I mean, it has gotten better –”

“Because of you and the rest of the group.”

A tiny smile flickered at the corner of her lips, and then she allowed it to bloom.

“I guess. Thanks.”

“It’s safer now than it has been in years. The real estate is still priced very competitively. That’s what I heard from Willie.”

“Willie the snitch?”

“His cousin is a realtor. Certified.”

“Huh. Well, it’s one way to make money.”

“She does make a killing.”

There was a silence and then Buffy groaned. “Angel, _stop_.”

He grinned.

 

It was a demon Night Market. They didn’t have this in Cleveland, or maybe they did, and she just didn’t have the right in with the wrong people – demons. Angel did, and she was surprised by how many of them acknowledged him as he pulled her through the crowd. She was less pleased by how _hungry_ some of the demons looked as they glanced at him. Buffy gritted her teeth and slipped into her Slayer game face as she made pointed eye contact with every demon she passed.

_My vampire. No touching!_

 

They stopped in front of a stall festooned with silk scarves. Racks of bright dresses spilled out of the tent and there was even more color inside. Angel led the way and lifted up a beaded curtain and beckoned her to go in first.

Buffy stepped inside, the smell of incense immediately invading her nose. She coughed and waved away the smoke.

“Why hello there. How can I help you tonight?”

A perfectly ordinary looking, rosy-cheeked woman sat behind a low table. She brightened as she caught a glimpse of Angel behind Buffy.

“Angel! What brings you here? Come in, come in.”

Angel had to duck a little as he came inside the tent. “Hi, Maureen. I brought Buffy here because she needs new clothes.”

Maureen turned and gave her the professional once-over. Buffy stared back, her fists curling at her sides.

“You’re the Slayer,” Maureen said. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

She smiled and brought her in for a hug. “My nephew should have brought you here sooner.”

Confused, Buffy hugged her back. “Wait, Angel’s your nephew?”

Maureen laughed. “Heavens, no. My nephew is Daniel. You probably know him as Oz.”

“Wait, you’re Oz’s aunt?” Buffy stepped back.

“Of course. Can’t you see the family resemblance?” Maureen whirled, her wide skirt flowing out around her in a perfect circle.

“But it’s a _demon_ market,” Buffy said.

“Lycanthropy runs in Oz’s family,” Angel said.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Oz is a _werewolf_?”

“No. My son is, but the gene runs throughout our line. Some of the children are born that way, and some...” she looked chagrined, “are made that way. It’s been like that for years.”

“Did this come up at a meeting, and I was just asleep?” Buffy asked.

Angel hesitated. Buffy only knew a small percentage of his vampiric traits, and he didn’t want to freak her out. Neither did he want to lie to her.

“I could smell there was something different about him,” he said. “Werewolves smell different from humans.”

“Oh,” Buffy said weakly. Then her eyes narrowed. “Different how?”

“It’s not important,” Angel said hastily as Maureen said, “Like wild things, sweetie. Good thing our blood is absolutely off-putting to them.”

Angel nodded. “They don’t taste good. Vampires would rather avoid them.”

“Well. I guess I should tell that to Giles. He can add it in as a footnote to something.”

She glanced at Maureen. “I don’t have to worry about you guys, do I?”

“Absolutely not,” Maureen said. “We’re not cannibals. Oz even tried being a vegetarian for a while.”

“Okay, then out of my jurisdiction. So, what kind of clothes do you have?”

Angel relaxed.

 

 

They left with a bulging bag in each hand – Maureen had refused payment, saying it was a gift to Buffy for cutting down the vampire population. It made Buffy speechless, and she nodded mutely while Angel thanked Maureen. She pinched his cheek and told him to remind Oz to return his aunt’s phone calls. “I know he’s fighting evil on a nightly basis, but an aunt does want to hear from her only nephew.”

“That was surreal,” Buffy said as they walked out into the night. “I can’t imagine Oz being all wolfy.”

“Well, he’s not.”

“But the potential is there,” Buffy said. “And everyone was so…normal. Even if they had scales or a tail.”

“Not all demons are capital D demons, Buffy. Sometimes they’re just like people.”

“I see that,” Buffy said carefully.

She lapsed into silence, the only sound the rustling of the bags as they walked.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“There’s going to be a dance at the high school. A celebration of the lower body count. Nancy said it was a homecoming kind of deal.”

Angel faintly remembered seeing posters around the hallways. “Are you going?”

“Well, she invited me to. They’re all going in a group – Oz, Larry, Jonathan, Nancy, Nancy’s friend Amy.”

He waited patiently.

“And I’m kind of bad at dances. I burned the gym down at the last one I attended.”

He cracked a smile. “Well, just don’t do that at this one.”

Buffy chewed on her lip before looking up at him. “Actually – would you mind…”

“What?”

“Forget it,” she mumbled. “It’s stupid.”

Angel stopped in the middle of the street. “Are you asking me if I want to take you to the dance?”

Buffy flushed a lovely shade of pink. “What? No!”

Angel decided to tease her. “So, you don’t want to go to the dance?”

Buffy stomped away, angrily swinging her bags. “I just said I’m bad at it.”

“I’ve seen you dance. You’re not bad at it.”

She was, in fact, a little _too_ good at it, he thought, memories of cold showers past crowding his brain.

He caught up with her easily. “Buffy, stop.”

“I don’t want to go. It was a bad idea. I’m embarrassed I ever thought it.”

Angel grabbed her hand.

“I think that you think too much.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and tenderly kissed her knuckles.

Buffy’s mouth dropped open.

“It would be my honor to take you to homecoming, my dear Lady Disdain.”

She blushed even pinker. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“I would never,” he said.

Buffy stared at him uncertainly. She glanced down at their joined hands. “So you said yes?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’ll pick you up at Giles’s apartment. When does it start?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“I’ll be there at six thirty. We’ll have dinner before we go.”

“We will?”

He gave her one of his shy half-smiles. “Yes. We will.”

 

 

_I don’t know how at all_

It had been funny after the immediate horror passed, of walking in on Giles and his date kissing passionately in his living room. They sprang apart as if they were on fire. Giles adjusted his tie and coughed, while his date smirked. She held out her hand, and Buffy gave it a firm shake.

“We haven’t met. I’m Jenny Calendar.”

“I’m Buffy. Summers.”

Jenny smiled, and it lit up her face.

Buffy had to hand it to Giles, he had excellent taste in women, at least.

“Rupert has told me a little about you. You’re the reason we can walk around a little safer at night.”

“I just helped a little. Giles had all the parts in place before I got here.”

“She’s being surprisingly modest. Buffy helped us turn the tide. And Jenny can help us maintain it.”

“It’ll take some work, but we have the technology now.” Jenny rested her hand against his chest.

Buffy cleared her throat before her Watcher got lost in Jenny’s eyes. “The reason I came out here was I needed someone to help zip me up?”

Giles noticed her dress for the first time. “Of course. You look lovely, Buffy.”

“I’ll help you,” Jenny offered. “We’re chaperoning the dance, but we don’t need to be there until it starts.”

“Angel is bringing you back home at a decent hour, I assume.” Giles took off his glasses and began to clean them.

“I didn’t know I had a curfew now,” Buffy said, amused.

“You don’t. We won’t wait up,” Jenny said and stood back. “You look beautiful.”

“You think so?” Buffy patted her mouth, and then the soft folds of her dress.

“Angel might be dead, but he does have eyes,” Jenny said breezily. “Trust me.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“We’ll see you there. Have fun!”

Giles’s doorbell rang and Buffy gratefully ran toward the door.

 

Angel’s hand was up to knock when she pulled open the door.

“Angel.”

“Bu-buffy,” he stuttered.

 

She was exquisite. No, more than exquisite. There wasn’t an adequate word in the English language to describe how she looked at the moment, and Angel didn’t want to waste time thinking of one. He held out his arm, still drinking her in.

“You look amazing too,” Buffy said. “You can tie a bow tie without a mirror?”

“Muscle memory,” he said. “Plus a hundred years or so of having to do it – they’re a lot easier than cravats.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her. “Your hair – I like it.”

Buffy’s hair was down and brushed out into silky waves, and a sparkly barrette held it back from her face.

“I decided to try something different.”

“It’s a good different. You look…incredible.”

“Thank you. It feels kind of weird, but also in a good way?”

He squeezed her hand comfortingly. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Well now you’ve jinxed it,” she teased him.

“I went in early and stashed weapons around the gymnasium. I’ve got it covered.”

“You really _do_ think of everything,” Buffy said in hushed tones.

“I want tonight to be perfect for you.”

Buffy leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder.

“I’m starting to believe it will be.”

 

Dinner had been interesting – Angel ordered a very, very rare steak while she ate roasted chicken with steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes. Angel discreetly pushed his included side of steamed broccoli at her when the waiter left.

“Vampires can eat?”

Angel shook his head.

“We don’t need to. Solid food generally doesn’t have the same flavor it did when we were alive, so it’s more of a social exercise. But I like the texture.”

He smiled at her.

“I didn’t want you to have to eat by yourself.”

Buffy rested her cheek against her fist as she looked at him.

“You’re so different from all the vampires I’ve ever encountered.”

“Well, I imagine not all of them had souls, Buffy.”

“It’s not just that, though. Sometimes they’re bright enough to have conversations before I dust them, but there’s just –” she spread her fingers out – “ _nothing_ there. Their demon is just hungry and banal. That’s what drove them. You – “she sat back in her chair. “Sometimes I have to remind myself that you’re not really human.”

He swallowed.

“Do you wish I was?”

Buffy’s answer surprised him.

“No. Not really. I’ve thought about it, but I like you the way you are.”

“Really?”

She smiled shyly at him.

“Yes. I don’t think you need to be a human for me …to care about you. You can keep up in a fight, you’ve had my back more times than I can count, and I like the way I feel when I’m around you.”

“And what’s that?”

His eyes were so hopeful, and she felt her body respond in kind.

“Safe. Precious. Like a whole person.”

She took a deep breath.

“Loved.” She looked at him bravely.

“You are. All of it.”

 

They skipped dessert and Angel’s hand found hers naturally as they exited the restaurant.

“I’m going to remember this night for the rest of my life,” Angel said.

“Me too,” Buffy agreed. She felt lighter than air like she would float completely off the ground if Angel weren’t tethering her to reality.

“I know this isn’t what you pictured for your life,” Angel said haltingly.

“But I promise, Buffy, that I’m going to do my best for you.”

“Angel, I didn’t picture surviving eighteen. And honestly, at the beginning of the year, I was surprised I made it to nineteen. I could die next year. I don’t have time to worry about pictures.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

His grip tightened. “I swear on my life –”

“Angel, it’s okay. Every Slayer thinks like that. I’ve read their diaries. I’m not going to take anything for granted, and you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ve just found you. If anything happens, I don’t know if I could –” he trailed off.

“You can,” Buffy said gently. “You want to live more than anyone I’ve ever met, and that includes the living.”

“Let’s not talk about this right now. You owe me a dance.”

“Oh, I owe you?”

“Yes. Your dance card is officially full.”

“I’ll allow it then.”

 

_honey don’t think (reprise)_

In the end, Angel sat down during the faster-paced songs and talked with Rupert and Jenny while Buffy tore up the dance floor with her friends.

Jenny tapped her foot while watching them. “God, that looks fun. We should be out there, Rupert.”

“I’m fairly certain that move will throw out my back completely. I’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

“What about you Angel?”

“I was alive when disco happened. There really doesn’t need to be any follow up to that.”

“I’m going to need historical proof, and by that, I mean incriminating photos. Were you at Studio 54?”

“Giles?” Angel looked pleadingly at the Watcher.

“Absolutely not. She already knows all of my deepest darkest secrets. You’re on your own, man.”

“I bet I could look up the archives,” Jenny mused.

Angel was saved from replying by the DJ, who segued into a much slower song.

“I’m going to dance with Buffy,” he declared.

“That’s our cue too, Cardigan man.” Jenny pulled an unresisting Giles up.

Angel found Buffy by the punch bowl, pouring herself a cup. His hands wrapped around her waist and he gently tugged her toward him.

“Hi.”

“Angel!” She _glowed_ , he thought. Lord Byron may have been a syphilitic bore, but he certainly got it right. He nuzzled her shoulder.

“Are you having fun?” She patted his cheek.

“Jenny Calendar is terrifying.”

“I know. I think she’s cool, though. She’s definitely going to keep Giles on his toes.”

“That’s an understatement.”

The pair in question waltzed past them on the dance floor, Jenny leading Giles.

“Which probably means I’m going to need to find another place to crash.”

She smelled like clean laundry and soap, and a sweet scent that was all her own. He sighed blissfully.

Then Buffy’s words made their way into his brain.

“Why?”

She poked at his chest. “Because I don’t want front row tickets to Giles and Jenny make outs? I walked in on them once already. And they’re probably going to bone sooner rather than later, and I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “You could always stay at my place. There’s a spare room.”

“I was going to ask if you could pass on Willie’s cousin’s phone number.”

“I could do that too. But you don’t need to be in a rush to find an apartment.”

“I know, but Giles has been so generous, and I didn’t think I’d still be here.”

He rested his chin on her head and swayed to the music.

“But you are going to stay, right?”

“I might just stick around for a little longer,” she said.

“That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

Buffy gazed up at him, trying to commit his features to memory. She meant it when she said she was going to stay – but life had taught her to keep her expectations low. She wanted Angel’s face to be her last good memory if it came down to it.

She settled herself against his chest and let the music flow through her, through them.

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know. I know. There's no kissing - at least not the kind you were expecting/hoping for?  
> But the timeline is roughly four months after they met, and they are both wounded and scarred emotionally - with sexual trauma and abuse in their pasts. Which I left off the page for the most part because I wanted this to be focused on the slow build of their working relationship into a romance. It's also an AU of an AU and I HOPE YOU DIDN'T SCROLL DIRECTLY TO THE NOTES BECAUSE AHA SPOILER.  
> Sorry, the MCU has fiddled my brain into being a spoiler phobe....for a 20+ year old show.
> 
> I originally had planned to write a triptych around the idea of Buffy and Angel at a dance - because the writing challenge was centered around The Prom episode, but then this particular story spiraled out of control. 
> 
> The 'titles' in this are lyrics from Grant Lee Buffalo's "Honey Don't Think." So this is song fic but not a song fic at the same time.


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